


Thinking of You

by test_the_water



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 06:06:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4336817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/test_the_water/pseuds/test_the_water
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 1957. Peggy Carter is preparing for Operation: OSCAR, one of her last missions as an active agent for the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. Angela Martine, Hollywood starlet, is 3,000 miles away, reading the script for her newest picture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thinking of You

**Author's Note:**

> This is some serious crack, but fun. Cartinelli endgame. I loved the idea of Angie and Peggy being separated for many years and then crashing back into each other's lives. My two biggest inspirations: maggiemerc's Fast Cars and Slow Jazz series and QuickYoke and ratherembarrassing's the mothering thing of us. Read them!!
> 
> Also, the title and chapters are references to my girl Katy Perry's song "Thinking Of You."

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” 

“It’s not enough.” 

Peggy clenched her jaw and nodded sharply, the same reaction she had exhibited not two hours earlier, when an assistant presented her with intel on an American traitor working for the Soviets. Angie leaned toward her, brushed a loose hair from her face. 

“Peg…”

“Don’t.” 

Eyes shimmering with unspoken hurt, she walked away. 

***10 years later***

The year is 1957. Peggy Carter is preparing for Operation: OSCAR, one of her last missions as an active agent for the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. Angela Martine, Hollywood starlet, is 3,000 miles away, reading the script for her newest picture. 

***

“No Howard, don’t even think of it!” Peggy rolled her eyes, impatient. 

“But Peggy, you must admit that it would work well with your cover story,” Howard insisted, “ I know I have, in the past, crossed a line when fixing you up with gadgets but--”

“Crossed a line, Howard? You tried to force me into a steel bra that shoots rockets from the nipples!”

Upon hearing such vulgar language, Jarvis intervened, “Now, now Agent Carter, I do understand your hesitation, but in this case I can vouch for Mr. Stark. This invention is much less hare-brained than most he dreams up.” 

“Thank you, Jarvis,” Howard replied, either not recognizing or not caring about the slight barb woven into his butler’s comment. Turning back to his colleague, “Peggy, I have only your best interests in mind, you must know that.”

“Yes, Howard, I do know that,” Peggy sighed. “And I do appreciate your gadgets, truly I do. I mean, the nail polish that changes color upon contact with poison was quite ingenious, and invaluable in my escape from Moscow.” 

“It’s six months late, but I’m so thrilled to hear your praise,” Howard said sarcastically. Then, more seriously, “I’m just trying to help, Peggy.” 

“Alright, alright, do try not to look so wounded. You know how I feel about my lipstick, though, Howard. I just don’t understand why you couldn’t dye this “special” lipstick a vibrant shade of red,” Peggy glowered, though she had very much softened by this point. 

“I understand your concern, but the red dye took away from the strength of the serum embedded in the lipstick. Until we can work out the kinks, this is the best I can do for you. And if I may add, I think you look quite charming in light pink,” Howard grinned lecherously. 

“My God, what nonsense,” Peggy rolled her eyes and glanced pointedly at Jarvis, who inclined his head in solidarity. “Very well, Howard, I will take this lipstick along with me,” she finally conceded.

“Wonderful! Well, now that that’s settled, would you like to come over for dinner tonight? Maria is making lasagna,” Howard offered, though he knew the answer before it rolled off of Peggy’s lips, practiced:

“Thank you Howard, but I really must stay back at the office this evening. Give my regards to Maria, please,” she said in a polite tone that meant, you are dismissed now.

“That I will,” Howard said, and placed his hat on his head, nodding. 

“And please tell Anna hello, Jarvis, and that I so enjoyed the scones she sent along,” Peggy said to Jarvis. 

“Of course, Agent Carter. Good evening,” replied Jarvis. 

***  
“Angela! Angela! Angela!!!”

“What the hell is goin’ on down here? An’ why the hell are you screamin’ like that?” Angela Martine, formerly Angie Martinelli of Brooklyn, sounded tired. 

“I just thought, since you got your script tonight we could go through it just to see--I hear it’s amazing so I thought we could--” slurred a confused Allen Barlowe, Angela’s manager, 

“What in the hell are you doin’ here, drunk as a skunk, outside my house, on a Tuesday evenin’, Barlowe?” Angie asked, sounding furious. 

“I-I-I---I was feeling lonely because, of, you know, the d-d-divorce proceedings, and H-Helen moving out and, y’know, I thought I’d come check in on m-my favorite client,” Allen stammered, momentarily pulled from his drunken haze by Angela’s uncharacteristic aggression. 

“I’m your only client, Allen,” she managed, still angry but much less frightened than she had been two minutes earlier, when she thought that she was being robbed or worse, that the paparazzi had found her address. 

“That issss…..very true,” Allen slurred again. 

“Look, why don’t you come on in,” Angie relented, “You can sleep on the sofa and we’ll talk in the morning.”

***Next morning***

“I’m so sorry, Angela, I mean, I can’t apologize enough.” Standing at the threshold of Angie’s home, Allen Barlowe looked and sounded like a kicked puppy. 

“Really, Allen, it’s fine. We all have our low points. While I’m less than pleased with this behavior, I still value our working relationship,” Angie Martinelli had never sounded so imperious, but for Angela Martine, an elevated tone was just a way of life. 

“Right. Well, I do appreciate your generosity. And I can assure you that it won’t happen again. It’s just...everything with Helen, you understand?” Allen wrung his hands, still nervous. 

“I do understand the pain of losing someone you love,” Angie said, sounding like herself, or at least herself a decade ago. 

If Allen Barlowe had been less embarrassed, less ashamed, less absorbed in his own woes, he might have noticed the change in Angela’s voice. He might have been curious, too, for though he and Angela had an above average working relationship, he knew almost nothing about her personal life. In the seven years since they had met, just after Angie’s big break on Broadway (a supporting role in Kiss Me, Kate), she had mentioned her mother only once. Even more odd, Angela, one of the most eligible bachelorettes on the silver screen, had not managed to hold down a boyfriend for more than a month or two since he had begun representing her. Barlowe didn’t like to question--her money paid his bills, after all--but he wondered about her all the same. 

“Thank you again, Angela. We’ll go over the script soon,” he murmured, mind entirely focused on how he might win back his wife. 

“Yes, of course. Good day, Allen,” Angie returned, and closed the door.


End file.
